


Engraved

by DoodleyNoodley



Series: I need to stop with the soulmate aus [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Aroace Hawke, Background Isabela/Merrill - Freeform, F/F, Implied Rape/Non-con, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, if you count Hawkes/the warden as such, in the past though, might add more later - Freeform, other background ships - Freeform, soulmate identifying marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-07-14 21:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7190438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoodleyNoodley/pseuds/DoodleyNoodley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Fenris and Anders have all but given up on ever finding their soulmates when they arrive in Kirkwall. But just being in Hawke's presence inspires hope… or so he says. In a cruel twist of fate it's Fenris who first discovers the bond, and he certainly isn't happy to have his soulmate be the apostate he hates. Anders is still holding out hope that someday, his soulmate will find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 'Sup, I'm DoodleyNoodley, and I started this account mainly to post fenders, so here's my first one! It's a soulmate au (typical if you know me…) I hope anyone reading this enjoys.

Everyone was born with a soulmate, the person they were perfect for, who was perfect for them. All it took was saying their name aloud, to them, and having them hear it. Once done, the speaker’s name would appear on their partner’s skin in the speaker’s handwriting. Helped in crowds, or other unique cases.

Mages weren't allowed to have soulmates, or, rather, weren't allowed to look for them, or keep them if they found them. If a mage did find their soulmate, the two were either made tranquil, or, if they were lucky, split up immediately, no questions asked, with the name marred into illegibility by a brand.

At first this had been horribly depressing for Anders, who had been very idealistic and whose dreams of a life outside the Circle with the person he was destined to be with sustained him. He only discovered how useful not knowing your soulmate was when he fell in love with Karl.

It had never mattered to the pair that they weren't soulmates, just that they loved each other. It made it easier to conceal their relationship from the templars as well.

It didn't hurt any less when they pulled Karl away from him either. Anders’ sixth escape was horribly planned, horribly orchestrated, and horribly failed. He'd just wanted to see Karl, that was all. 

“It isn't fair to do this to me and Karl, to any of us mages!” Anders had raged at Gregoir as he was thinking up a punishment for the rebellious blonde. “It isn't right! It isn't just!”

The Knight-Commander had paid him no mind, ordering two templars to put him in solitary confinement.

‘Ha!’ Anders had thought to himself. ‘As if a few days in solitary will change me!’

But as days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, Anders became less and less sure.

He imagined escaping, really escaping, finding Karl and living free. Sometimes his thoughts strayed to his soulmate, how they were out there, waiting for him, if only he could escape and find them. These thoughts and the tower mouser kept him sane through days of dark loneliness and hours of beatings, torture, and other unspeakable crimes; the only human contact he had.

When finally he was released, after a year in that dark hole, he escaped as quickly as possible, stumbling into blinding sunlight.

He managed to stay escaped for a year, due to the raging blight and the unfortunate infestation of blood mages Ferelden and the Circle were suffering from respectively. But then, as the world sorted itself out, the templars caught up to him, dragging him back towards the Circle in chains; he'd nearly nearly managed to get on a boat to Rivain, too! Unfortunately they took him to the Warden’s Keep, only to suffer a Darkspawn attack, and hey, if he'd frozen some of the joints in their ridiculous armor to hinder them before turning on the Darkspawn, well, no one would know. Then a warden, a very famous warden he'd learn later, burst into the room, weapons swinging, followed by a woman brandishing a very pointy looking sword in his face.

The warden was the good-humored, Warden-Commander Nunya Brosca, Hero of Ferelden, who took in him, the archer and elf who had both tried to kill her, the smelly, spirit possessed corpse, the smellier dwarven Berserker, and the excitable Legion of the Dead member.

Nunya herself would fondly stroke her wrist and spoke wistfully of the many good things about her soulmate, Leliana, looped in swooping, round letters into her skin. Velanna and Sigrun actually turned out to be soulmates, Sigrun’s name blocky and dark on the elf’s skin, with Velanna’s written in spidery, long letters on the dwarf’s, Oghren had Felsi scrawled into his flesh, almost looking indented, Nate had Patricia nearly scratched into his arm, small hearts over the ‘i’s seeming an afterthought to dress-up the downright terrible handwriting. Even Justice’s corpse had a name, though now illegible due to rot and decay. Only Anders’ wrist was bare. The others tried to be sympathetic, but they really did a piss-poor job of it, in Anders’ personal opinion.

It didn't help that Nunya, sweet as she was, took great delight in regaling her wardens, Anders especially, with the oh-so-romantic tales of how the adorably awkward Alistair, who was now king, and the apostate Witch of the Wilds both finding their soulmates in Kinloch Hold, to mages Anders knew personally. Or the Antivan crow and a Dalish elf. Vetus, Samual, and Fatum were all wardens now, their time spent more out on missions than back at the keep. It was when Nunya, along with wardens Tanek, Amisi, and Onero left for Weisshaupt, leaving Nate and his soulmate Patricia Cousland in charge of the Keep, that everything went to hell.

And, while such a shallow thought as soulmates, was not among the many reasons he ran from the wardens, he did let himself have a small moment of spite and relief before he and Justice combined and suddenly such thoughts were beneath them. The spirit did still find room in his pretentiousness to pity Anders for his blank wrist, insisting it was unjust to both Anders and the poor fool who was his soulmate to keep them apart. Anders thought Justice was just a romantic at heart.

They fled to Kirkwall, City of Chains. After all, that's where Karl was, and soulmate or not, Karl was the closest thing to love Anders had ever had. So they went, the only thought in Anders’ mind being the need to break Karl out, no matter the cost.

…

A slave’s soulmate was a… delicate matter; a slave’s blank arm going in and out of style like trends in clothing. Currently it was ‘in’ to have a matching pair, which meant slaves were allowed to address each other by their names. Soulmates could go for a lot of money in an auction. Fenris though, wasn't allowed to speak anyone’s name; not after a mumbled ‘Danarius’ failed to produce any results.

Fenris didn't think any other magisters allowed their slaves to call them by name even once, on the very off chance that they may actually be soulmates, and he was certain Danarius hadn't let any other slave say his name. At the time he had thought that he was special, that Danarius did actually care for him. He fancied himself in love. Looking back though, he could see it was just another ploy to gain complete control over a treasured pet. And use it to control him Danarius did indeed.

“I'm so sorry pet.” Danarius would croon on good nights. “So sorry that you don't have a soulmate. That I'm the only one who could ever care for you.”

And Fenris had believed it, had been glad to be allowed into his master’s bed to be stroked so possessively and told over and over that he wasn't good enough to have been given a soulmate. That there was no one out there who would love him.

On bad nights Danarius would rant about the audacity that anyone would believe another person had any claim to his precious property, and Fenris would be beaten on the off chance that he'd thought that there was anyone else other than his master that could call him ‘theirs’.

But even he had his fantasies of his soulmate, someone who would cherish him and allow Fenris to cherish them in return. He'd always felt guilty afterwards, like he was committing a betrayal, that is until his time with the Fog Warriors.

After he'd escaped he'd relished in repeating people's names back at them, no matter if they were already paired or not; simply because he'd never been allowed to. It was just one more freedom he indulged in, and not just to spite Danarius.

…

He found Hawke a very peculiar man, insisting on referring to him as just ‘Fen’ and refusing to tell Fenris his first name. Hawke’s siblings had explained it to him later, apparently the man just didn't want to find his soulmate, didn't want them to get any romantic, or even just sexual, ideas in their head which he wouldn't be able to return. Fenris easily accepted this and respected Hawke’s wishes.

Hawke had introduced him enthusiastically to the rest of his friends as quickly as he could. In a whirlwind night of booze, gambling, and socializing, Fenris had heard the names of all Hawke’s companions, but he hadn't parroted back their names as he normally would, not wanting to mess up any possible alliances with confusing soulmate feelings. He'd never had friends before.

Fate, of course had to present him with opposition at every turn, this time in the form of a bedraggled mage openly carrying a staff through the tavern.

“Andy!” Hawke called joyfully. “Varric was just about to deal! Come meet Fen!”

“Apostate.” Fenris spat in response, glaring at the mage.

“Where'd you pick up a mage hating elf, Hawke?” The man rolled his eyes. “Anders. I'm sure we’ll get along splendidly.”

“Fenris.” Fenris growled, not lowering his guard.

“This isn't going to end well.” Varric muttered to Hawke.

“No, I don't suppose it will.” Hawke sighed, looking genuinely sad.

…

The more time Fenris spent in Anders’ company, the more he despised him. Every detail pissed him off, Anders’ demon, his magic, his manifesto, his apostasy, his passionate speeches on the rights of mages, his stupid clinic. There was not a single likable aspect about the man, and Fenris was fairly certain Anders felt the same towards him, so why Hawke kept insisting on bringing them both along on his ridiculous escapades, Fenris just didn't know.

It was on one of these adventures that shit really hit the fan.

They were clearing out a mine called the Bone Pit- a place Merrill remarked as being “the sort of place where all sorts of important things could happen. I bet many writers have used this place as a plot.” -and facing down a hoard of dragonlings, along with a few adolescents.

Being the only melee fighter in the party, Fenris was right in the thick of things, brands flaring and burning. Being attacked from all sides, he didn't even notice the addition of one more enemy, even if that one more was the one that was turning the tide against him. Struggling to keep all claws, fangs, and flames away from himself, Fenris pushed his brands harder, milking them for strength, stamina, speed, anything.

“Fenris!” The mage yelled. “Get out of there, you blighted elf!”

“Don't you think I would if I could, Mage!” Fenris snapped back, throwing a runt away from him and into the path of his blade, ignoring the tingling starting up in his skin, centered on his left hand which he'd just thrust into a dragonling’s head.

He heard Anders mutter out a curse before there was fire raining down around him. Fenris startled back at about the same time the dragonlings did, but unlike them, not even a spark landed on Fenris.

Fenris spun around, determined to be angry, after all, the mage had just put his life in incredible danger. His eyes went wide though at the sight of Anders, who was leaning heavily on his staff, breath heaving and face screwed up in what seemed to be pain.

“You better be grateful for that, Elf.” He gasped out. “I just saved your ass; not to mention how much it took out of me to not hit you.”

“Like I would thank an abomination for nearly frying me with magic.” Fenris spat.

“Of fucking course.” Anders sighed. “It was foolish for me to expect thanks from you of all people, you hateful elf.”

“Stop fighting you two.” Hawke groaned from over off to the side where he lay in the sand, having only just awakened from Merrill poking his face repeatedly (which she was still doing while Hawke either half-heartedly or sluggishly tried to slap her fingers away), after a dragon had launched itself at Hawke’s face, efficiently knocking the mage out.

“Remind me again why you insisted on bringing a party where three out of the four long ranged mages?” Anders asked their intrepid leader who was trying to convince the blood mage to let him go back to sleep.

“It seemed a good idea at the time.” Hawke flushed. “Besides, you needed herbs and Merry wanted to get some sun.”

Anders just sighed and rolled his eyes.

“It doesn't matter, let's just get back to Kirkwall.” Fenris said, easily swinging his sword over his shoulder and stalking back the way they came, past the charred corpses of dragonlings.

“Sounds good!” Hawke said cheerfully, suddenly full of energy as he sprung to his feet, forcing Merrill to jump back to avoid a literal head on collision.

As usual, day long trips seemed to be over in a matter of minutes, instead of long hours. Along with his uncanny ability to use any exit and end up right where he wanted, even if it was using one that led further up Sundermount yet leading the party out in the middle of Darktown, trips with Hawke never seemed that time consuming, leaving Fenris plenty of time to make a dent in the seemingly inexhaustible supply of wine underneath his mansion.

Therefore, it didn't surprise when, instead of returning to the city in the middle of the night, like they should have, they arrived at high noon of the same day. As usual, Fenris forgo any sort of sustenance for a bottle.

Pulling off his gauntlets, he set the bottle on the crate that served as his bedside table, itching absentmindedly at his left wrist. Except it wasn't soft flesh his fingertips came in contact with. In horror, he stared down at his wrist. Where there had only this morning been unmarred flesh, there were now indecipherable scrawls of lyrium. His soulmate. He had met his soulmate, they had said his name, but he couldn't read theirs. It figured though, that Danarius’ curse would twist even this, but for now he didn't have time for such thoughts. Instead, he quickly made his way to the chantry, which was the closest place to find someone anonymous to read his name for him.

It wasn't the poor sister’s fault that the name she had read off his wrist after it being shoved in her face caused the now glowing elf to reel back in disgust.

Anders.

Fenris would never speak the abomination’s name aloud, let alone to the man’s face.

Magic had found a way to taint even his purest desires.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about the wait, I have no excuse really other than my attention being focused on other projects, some of which should soon be seen soon. Please enjoy everyone!

Anders sighed loudly, forehead resting uncomfortably on the wood of Hawke’s table.

“Use your words Andy.” Hawke reprimanded teasingly, sneaking some jerky to Pup, the mabari, who sat under the table, and who Leandra had scolded her son on feeding rations to.

“Isabela and Merrill. Did you notice?” Anders said dejectedly, voice muffled.

“Of course.” Hawke nodded. “I hope they're happy together. How's your hunt going?”

“Nowhere.” Anders sighed. “It's as if my soulmate just doesn't want to be found.”

“I don't know why they'd hide, you're a real catch.” Hawke smiled softly, and oh how Anders loved this man.

“Do you think it's possible to just, not have one?” Anders chewed on his lip as he raised his head.

Hawke sat down the book he'd been skimming, brow creasing as he gave Anders’ question some serious thought.

“I don't know, Andy.” He said slowly, as if agonizing over every syllable. “Sometimes, I wish. Other times, I look around, and seeing my friends in pain makes me wish I could be certain that they'd all find their happiness in the end.”

“What about your own soulmate? Don't you want to find them?” Anders asked, maybe, if Hawke would just tell him his name…

“Not particularly.” Hawke shrugged. “I don't feel romance or even sexual desire like most people. And while I could never hate or deny my soulmate, our society perpetuates the idea that a soulmate must be romantic, and that's just not something I can give.”

“But isn't cruel to let your soulmate think they won't ever find you?”

“It's so complicated Andy.” He shook his head sadly. “There are a lot of factors going into this, and many things that I think about every day. Right now, this is my best solution.”

“I see. I can respect that, I guess.” Anders felt conflicted, he didn't know how he'd feel if he learned his soulmate was adamant on not connecting with him.

“You don't.” Hawke chuckled softly. “And that's ok. I don't need you to.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes as Hawke returned to his book, some sort of codex of spells, and Anders returned his head to the table, resuming his silent brooding. Great, he was getting as bad as the elf. Speaking of the elf, his vitriol had gotten harsher and he seemed to be avoiding Anders as much as possible with them both following the over enthusiastically friendly Hawke. Not that Anders really cared, as long as his heart remained in his chest, he didn't care if the elf was incapable of getting over himself.

“Hey, Hawke? Does Fenris seem off to you?” Anders asked, he hadn't said he wasn't curious. “What'd you do, let a group of escaped mages skip off into the sunset in front of him again?”

“Fen?” Hawke cocked his head. “No, I don't think so. And you know I've stopped bringing him on jobs that involve mages, after last time and all.”

The two shivered simultaneously at the memory.

“Hm. Must just be my imagination than.” Anders concluded, shrugging it off. “Thanks for the talk.”

“Sure.” Hawke grinned. “Happy to help.”

“I'll leave now, before your uncle returns. Maker knows I'd rather personally extract my eyes with a toothpick than listen to him whinge on.”

“Fair enough.” Hawke laughed. “Honestly, I wish I could do the same, but Bethy wants me to make sure there's no blood magic in this tome before she gives it to a family who recently discovered their youngest is a mage. See you later!”

With a final wave, Anders departed, carefully picking his way back to Darktown.

He retreated into his head again, stewing over what he'd talked about with Hawke. He was so immersed in his thoughts, he was unable to dodge the person that suddenly appeared in his line of sight. Stumbling back, Anders barely managed to catch himself before he could fall to the ground.

“You could watch where you're going, Mage.” Fenris snarled.

“I'm sorry, but I don't think you were paying attention either, or you'd have just gone around me.” Anders snapped back. “And I have a name, you know, Fenris. One that isn't ‘mage’ or ‘abomination’ or ‘that annoying guy’.”

Fenris flinched, scowl twisting his pretty features. “As if I would ever let your name pass my lips.” He spat.

Anders was offended, genuinely offended. “It's not like we're soulmates, Asshole.” He huffed. “As if I would want to be.”

“No matter.” Fenris squirmed. “Names are precious, and you are not.”

“Fine, whatever.” Anders threw his arms in the air. “I don't care. Just get out of my way.”

Fenris stepped aside, and as Anders passed, he noticed the elf delicately stroking a spot on his wrist, a frown marring his face. _‘No way, the elf had a soulmate?’_ Anders thought to himself. _‘How could the hateful bigot find his before me?!’_

 **It is not as if you yourself are completely innocent on that front.** Justice spoke up almost sleepily from the back of his mind, the spirit always got like this when he touched Fenris. Stupid lyrium.

 _‘You were the one who didn't like him in the first place!’_ Anders protested.

 **And it was unjust of me. The elf has suffered, it is our duty to gently show him the righteousness of our cause, not attack him.** Justice hummed.

 _’Agree to disagree.’_ Anders huffed aloud, continuing on his way to his clinic, knowing he'd probably have patients waiting at the door.

…

Fenris hesitated in front of Hawke’s door, needing to confide in the other man, but not knowing how to go about doing so without revealing too much.

“You can come in Fen!” Hawke’s voice called.

“How did you-?” Fenris spluttered as he entered the hovel.

“The lyrium. I'm a mage, I can feel it.” Hawke explained from the chair he sat in. A tome was set open across the table, likely slid there if the dirt smears on the table’s surface were anything to go by. “What did you need, my friend?”

“I-” Fenris sighed. “I need advice.”

“Okay.” Hawke nodded, motioning towards the chair sat opposite him. “On what?”

“Soulmates.” He sat, cutting straight to the point.

“Soulmates, huh?” Hawke chuckled. “Well, you're not the first person today to have come to me for that.”

Fenris immediately remembered running into the mage on the way here.

“Alright, spill. I'm here for all your ranting needs.” Hawke smiled kindly.

“What if you hate your soulmate?” Fenris chewed on his lip, a scowl darkening his face at the thought of Anders’ connection to him.

Hawke sat back in his chair, studying him. “Like truly hate? No possibility of a changing your mind?”

Fenris nodded immediately, not even needing to think twice. Subconsciously, he pressed his thumb into the lines denoting _Anders_ as his soulmate.

Something Hawke’s eyes changed, softening, he looked almost distraught.

“You know who it is then?” Hawke asked gently, as if Fenris was glass.

“Yes.” Fenris answered, cocking his head slightly in confusion.

“I'm so sorry.” He whispered, possibly even tearing up a bit, but that could just be a trick of the light. “Fen, your soulmate isn't the be all end all of love, you know?”

Fenris blinked in surprise, having not actually have thought of it like that, he _could_ just ignore the mark, couldn't he? He couldn't even read it, for the Maker’s sake! As long as no one found out what his wrist said, and he continued with his plan to never speak the mage’s name, this could work! Maybe he could even find someone who also didn't like their soulmate.

“Thank you Hawke.” He smiled, than laughed, feeling much lighter than he had when he'd come here.

“Anything, Fen, and anytime. You hear? If you ever need to talk about this, or anything else, again, you know where to find me.” Hawke said in a serious tone, carefully cupping Fenris’ right hand in his own.

“Yes Hawke, of course.” He grinned, standing to leave. “I'll see you later then?”

“Always.” Hawke nodded.

Fenris didn't notice the pitying look Hawke shot him as he left the shack.

He was determined now, he would not let this ruin his life, even if there was still a large part of him that grieved.

…

Anders was going to _kill_ Hawke, no matter how much he loved the ridiculous man. Once again, Anders was in the Deep Roads, right where he'd never wanted to be again.

“You ok there Anders?” Hawke called from uphead.

“Completely fine.” He snapped back. Carver snorted.

“Blondie’s just pissed at Bartrand, like the rest of us.” Varric flippantly replied.

“Yeah.” Anders gritted out. “That's it. Not this whole ridiculous, _stupid_ trip.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Carver bitched.

“Carver, not the time.” Bethany set a gentle hand on both men’s shoulders, as she did, her sleeve pulled down just enough for Anders to read _’astian’_ written in the prettiest cursive he'd ever seen.

“Guys! This way!” Hawke called far to cheerfully as he pointed off down another identical tunnel. Varric pinched the bridge of his nose, shooting a glance down the adjacent tunnel, but following their leader anyway.

They had many incidents involving too many shades to really make sense-where were they coming from?-and much backtracking as Hawke inevitably led them down dead end passages, though Anders wasn't completely convinced it was an accident on Hawke’s part, noticing how thoroughly he cleared their paths of loot. Sometimes he could be greedier than even Isabela, and she was a pirate.

They were almost to the entrance, a week out at most, when first Bethany, then Carver, collapsed, veins dark, skin pale, and eyes glossy.

“It's the Blight.” Anders somberly confirmed to a panicking Hawke a few hours later, after they'd found a defensible place to set up camp.

“Maker.” He whispered, voice growing choked.

“There anything you can do, Blondie?” Varric asked.

“No.” he sighed. “This is something not even magic can cure.”

“W-what about the Wardens?” Hawke said. “ Can't you turn them, or whatever it is you do?”

Anders pondered the question carefully, chewing at his lips as he thought over the maps he'd given Hawke all those months ago. His eyes lit up.

“ _I_ can't, but there is a Warden expedition fairly near our current position, if I'm remembering correctly.” He suggested.

“Anything is worth a shot.” Hawke said, and looking into his golden eyes, Anders knew he was telling the truth and he remembered some long ago fragment of conversation about their differing views on blood magic. Hawke didn't practice it, but said he knew enough about the theory behind it that he could if he wanted, and had clarified that he didn't see blood magic as inherently evil, which led to long debates between him and Merrill with Anders rolling his eyes on the sideline.

“Let's go then.” Varric nodded.

Ignoring the twins’ weak protests, the three healthy men literally dragged them to the Wardens, barely making it in time.

“You know they may not survive.” Stroud, the arrogant prick, said flippantly. Anders could already tell he was planning on dismissing them.

“It's better than no chance at all.” Hawke stood proud, not backing down at the air of command Stroud radiated.

“Take them. They are strong enough.” Anders spoke up.

“Warden Anders.” Stroud said cooly.

“Now isn't the time. They're dying Stroud. They _will_ survive. And,” Anders gulped. “If they don't, I'll return. You can drag me back to Orlais or Ferelden.”

Stroud considered them, before motioning to his fellows to collect the twins.

Luckily for Anders, they both survived.

…

Returning to the surface felt odd after months underground, and Anders had to split off early, making a hasty retreat to Darktown, some portion of him fearing Hawke would drag them back into the darkness if he lingered.

Trudging back, Anders was stopped by a familiar, aggravating voice.

“So you have returned.”

Anders turned to face Fenris’ frown.

“Yes. We have. Don't bother Hawke, Bethany and Carver both are gone.” Anders sighed, not wanting to be having this conversation.

“Dead?” Fenris looked shocked, and horrified.

“They may be.” Anders admitted. “Or they may be Wardens. We don't know yet. It was the best we could do. The best I could do.”

“And why could you not heal them, Mage?” Fenris hissed.

“Fenris, there's no cure for the Blight, except maybe blood magic, and I'm a healer. Spirit magic and blood magic just don't work. Look, I need to check on my clinic.” And he strode off, not caring to notice the confused glare Fenris was directing at his retreating back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah boys. You two sure do know how to dance around each other. And Hawke, my sweet baby, your assumptions might get in the way. If anyone wants to know more about this Hawke, just ask. Thanks for reading everyone!


End file.
